


Big Picture

by callievalpoli



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:10:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callievalpoli/pseuds/callievalpoli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have to look at the big picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Picture

**Author's Note:**

> After watching 3.09, I got this image in my head of the Sheriff playing chess with Derek and Stiles looking on and I just sort of had to write it. So, here you go.

“Want to take white? After all, it’s my board,” Stiles’ dad says, gesturing at the chessboard.

“Nah. That’s fine. I’ll take black.” Derek says with one of his stupid superior smiles.

Stiles snorts, not really able to help it. “Of course you will, Mr. King of Darkness.”

Derek flashes a little fang at him. Where his dad can’t see of course. Brown noser.

“Stiles, why don’t you go do your homework?” his dad says, with a little nod to Stiles’ backpack.

“Finished,” Stiles says. And he actually did finish—at least, everything other than the stupid current events assignment, which he’s hoping to actually use his dad for, so…

“Okay, why don’t you call Scott. I know the two of you go through separation anxiety if you’re apart from each other for too long.” His dad looks at Stiles’ phone.

Stiles looks at his own phone. The idea has merit, but… “Yeah. No. Think I’m just gonna hang with you. Spend time with the old man.”

“That’s great Stiles,” his dad says with what seems to be a somewhat forced smile. He looks around at the room as if he’s missing something, and then he turns back to Stiles with a light in his eye. “You know what would make this even better? Cake.”

“Cake,” Stiles says, incredulously.

“Yes. Cake.” His dad has that constipated look that’s always on his face when he’s trying to get away with eating three donuts for supper. Or when he’s lying about something.

“Wait a second,” Stiles says, waving his hand. “Wait just a minute. Are you…? Are you trying to _get rid_ of me? Cause that’s so totally uncool. Dad—“ Stiles tugs on his dad’s hand. He’s probably losing all his cool points with Derek, but if stayed awake at night worrying about what Derek thought about him he would probably be having a lot of sleepless nights. This isn’t about Derek. This is about his dad. “You just about died. I— I really need to be with you now. I need to know you’re all right. I need to know you’re safe.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, and a hand is gripping his shoulder. For some reason, some of the tension leaves his body. “It’s all right. He’s all right.” There’s a sudden pull, and Stiles is forced to turn, body moving slowly but inexorably toward Derek. Derek just looks at him for a second, face too close. “We got him, okay. I will make sure he’s safe.” His eyes trace back and forth, tracking Stiles. “I promise.”

Stiles gasps out something between a sigh and a sob.

Derek’s grip on his shoulder turns less controlling, more comforting. “Why don’t you just go and get us all something to drink. I think we could all use something warm on a night like tonight.”

Stiles looks at Derek for a second, then he turns his head, looks at his dad from over his shoulder. His dad looks bad. There’s no question about the fact that his dad looks bad. But he’s looked worse.

(And maybe the only time that he really looked worse was after Mom. But it’s enough. Stiles’ dad made it through last time unscathed. He can do it again.)

“Yeah,” Stiles says to Derek, still looking at his dad. He turns back to Derek, feels his eyes full of tears, but none escaping. “Yeah. All right. I’ll, uh, go and do that.”

Stiles starts walking away, and then there’s a throat being cleared. He turns around, and his dad is holding out a five dollar bill, folded neatly down the middle. “Get me the French Roast,” he says, hoarsely. “None of that Breakfast Blend crap.”

Stiles snorts as he takes the money.

“And if you come back with decaf, so help me god, I will disown you.” His dad wags a finger in warning.

Stiles bites back a smile. Maybe his dad isn’t quite up to snuff yet, but the fact that he’s making threats means something.

He walks out of his dad’s room and down the hall to the vending machines. Of course, as soon as he gets there, he realizes the stupid things don’t take fives. He kicks one of the machines in irritation, but that just ends up with him jumping up and down for a second and then having to limp down the hall to find someone who has change for a five.

He asks a nurse, or maybe an orderly, but they have no idea where to get change. They do point him in the direction of the cafeteria, though, where they apparently serve coffee that doesn’t even taste like three day old dog poo.

Crisis averted, Stiles makes his way toward the cafeteria. Only, for some reason, the hospital that’s always seemed pretty straightforward in the past suddenly seems a little like a labyrinth. Stiles has to stop to ask for directions three times. But he finally makes it to the little cafeteria and orders three coffees with little fanfare. He picks up the plastic tray, ready to walk away, but then he wonders what Derek even likes in his coffee. He throws a couple of creams and sugars and a couple stir sticks on the tray for good measure.

The walk back is almost anticlimactic in its easiness. Stiles is to his dad’s door in what seems like no time at all, and he’s just about to shove his way in when he hears his dad’s voice. “—not safe! He doesn’t know this. He doesn’t think about things like this. He’s just a child.”

Stiles should open the door. He should walk in.

He steps a little closer, puts his ear firmly against the wood grain. He is going to hell. No question. He is definitely going to hell.

“No,” Derek’s voice contradicts.

“No?” his dad’s voice says back.

“No,” Derek’s voice says. “He’s not a child. He’s a very smart young man. Sheriff, he knows what he’s doing. He knows what he’s getting into here.”

There’s a pause of a second, and Stiles is just about to open the door, when he hears his dad’s voice say, “I can’t save him from this. I can’t do anything to protect him. If this was a killer or a gang member or, hell, or an arsonist, I would be able to do something. I would be able to make sure he was all right. But what am I supposed to do here? Make him carry a gun loaded with silver bullets at all times?”

Stiles really wants to defend himself. He’s capable. He’s a capable adult-like person.

Derek does it for him before he has a chance. “I can’t say I understand where you’re coming from. I was raised this way. I will never understand exactly where you’re coming from. But, Sir? You’re not giving him enough credit. Stiles is clever. When he puts his mind to it, he’s actually a really good tactician.”

Stiles internally gloats. Oh yeah, he’s the bomb.

Silence sits like weight for a minute, and then his dad’s voice is saying, “I just, I need him to be safe. He’s my little boy. I just want him to be safe. It’s not like I can trust Scott to take care of him. He’s still in high school. And his judgment isn’t that great at the best of times. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to be able to sleep at night knowing how much danger he’s in.”

And okay, yeah, Stiles is opening this door, but before he gets further than a hand on the knob, Derek’s saying, “I’ll look out for him. I’ve _been_ looking out for him. Actually, we tend to look out for each other.” Stiles’ heartbeat picks up for some reason he can’t quite explain. “Sleep safe at night Sheriff. He’s in good hands.”

Stiles is frozen. He can’t go in. Even though he wants to, he can’t go in. There’s too much going on in his brain right now. He needs a second to process.

Of course, that’s the moment Derek says, “I think Stiles is back. I can smell coffee,” and if he could smell the coffee then he knew Stiles was there the whole time. Stiles knocks his head against the door, just once, in irritation at freaking werewolves and their stupid wolfy senses.

He opens the door, pasting a smile on his face for his dad. “Hey, Dad. French Roast, just like you said.” He sets the tray down on the little side table. The chess game is in full swing from the looks of things, and he doesn’t want to upset the game currently in progress. He carefully avoids looking at Derek’s side of the room. Instead he goes to his backpack and pulls out his notebook. At least he can take the time before his painful death of embarrassment listing out his assets and who he wants them to be distributed to. The wolfly knowledge will have to go to Lydia, obviously, but he’s giving all his RPGs to Allison, because, the way he figures, that girl could probably outplay them all. Scott will get his collection of porn. And maybe his comics, if Stiles is feeling particularly grateful.

His dad and Derek are talking quietly about the weather now, of all things, and Stiles lets it lull him. Suddenly there’s a break in dialog and Stiles looks up. He sees his dad concentrating on the board like he does only at his most competitive. And from one look, Stiles can see why. Stiles isn’t a brilliant chess player, but even he can see that Derek’s gonna win in three moves. Stiles carefully tucks his notebook away. He was just deliberating about whether to give Jackson all of his single socks or his lacrosse ball from the game Stiles won, but this is more interesting.

After another minute, Stiles’ dad finally makes his move. It’s sort of brutal to watch. It’s not like the game is even salvageable at this point, but his dad doesn’t give up.

Derek looks at the board for a second. Stiles figures he’s gonna look at his dad, up the intimidation factor somehow, but instead Derek’s gaze turns on Stiles. He just stares at Stiles for a minute, and then he’s reaching over, not even turning and moving a piece. And Stiles gets that with the superpowers and shit, there’s no reason for Derek to actually be watching the board but jeez, below the belt much? Talk about hitting a man while he’s down.

But then he hears a completely unexpected word from his dad’s mouth. “Checkmate.”

Stiles tears his gaze away from Derek, and suddenly there’s a whole new game in front of him. One where his dad has clearly won.

Stiles doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get what this could possibly gain Derek. He doesn’t get what’s going on tonight at all.

But before Stiles can ask, Derek’s turning back to his dad and saying, “Hey, you look tired. Want us to clear out of here?”

Stiles looks up, and his dad does look tired, the lines on his eyes growing deeper with fatigue. “Yeah. Think I’m going to sleep.” He stops for a yawn. “Something about being stabbed and kidnapped by an evil Druid does that to you.”

Derek gathers up the pieces and says, “Okay, then. We’ll leave you to it.” He turns to Stiles, board tucked firmly under his arm. “Stiles?”

Stiles looks up at him for a second wondering what caused his interrogatory expression, and then he gets it. “Oh. I’m not going. But you can feel free. I’m staying here tonight. Not letting him out of my sight.”

“Uh huh. Yeah, you’re coming with me,” Derek says, looping his arm through Stiles and tugging him out. Stiles puts up resistance, he really does, but Derek seems set on getting him out of the room. When they get to the door frame, Stiles puts up a last ditch effort, grabbing and holding on for dear life.

“Not leaving. I’m staying here until he’s out of the hospital or until the medical staff physically removes me.”

“Stiles. Go,” his dad says from the bed, looking all peaky. And Stiles can’t go. He can’t. He can’t leave his dad alone again. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Scott is on first patrol,” Derek says, low enough that his dad isn’t picking up on anything. “Isaac has second and I have third. Don’t worry. He’s safe.”

And just like that, Stiles feels the fight go out of him.

They end up walking to the parking lot, side by side, just like a couple of friends. And just like a couple of friends, Stiles starts talking. “Why did you throw the game?”

Derek is silent for a second, and Stiles is just about ready to give up on getting an answer when Derek says, “Sometimes you have to look at the big picture. Does the game matter?”

Stiles shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

“In the big picture, does the game matter?”

“Okay, no. In the big picture the game doesn’t matter. But this isn’t some life or death moment here. This is a game of chess with my dad.” Stiles turns to look at him, trying to figure out what’s going on in Derek’s head.

“See, to you it was just a game of chess with your dad. But to me, it was the first chance I’ll ever get to try and redeem myself in his eyes. This was a make or break moment for me.”

Stiles thinks about it. “You’re logic is deeply disturbing. Tragic. Really.”

Derek looks away, down the hallway marked ‘emergency’. “How did it go?” he asks.

Stiles shrugs. “He’s my dad. He’s predisposed to like you.” Derek’s shoulders seem to lose a little of their tenseness. “He’s predisposed to like everyone.”

Derek turns and gives him a look.

“He’s not gonna like you throwing the game, though,” Stiles says with a smile. “That’s not gonna be something his ego is getting over anytime soon.”

“He won fair and square.” Derek’s brow is a mark of stubbornness.

“Yeah, try telling that to someone who wasn’t in the room with you,” Stiles says. “Next time, just play. And don’t worry about who wins or loses. After all, big picture? It’s just a game.”

“Next time,” Derek says, one of those almost smiles turning his mouth up at the corner.

“I hope you didn’t think this was a one-time thing,” Stiles says, waving his hand for emphasis. “Ho boy. I should have warned you before you started, once you play with him once, he never lets you go.”

Derek’s mouth turns up a little bit more. “I think I can handle it,” he says, opening the door to inky black night.

Stiles stands at the entrance for a second. He could stay. Part of him really wants to stay.

He walks through the door.

When he’s outside, he turns around and sees a dark silhouette against the slivered moon. A head turns his way and amber eyes are staring down on him. The face turns, and suddenly there’s a howl sounding out. God, Scott is such a doofus sometimes.

He stares up at the roof for a second longer, and then he feels warmth behind him. “You coming?” Derek says.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. He waves up at Scott, and then he says, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

And they leave together, two dark shapes in the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on [](http://callievalpoli.tumblr.com/)


End file.
